The Matthew Mind

The fact that I drove Matthew to school today is a story in itself. The short version is that the most stubborn child this world has ever seen, decided 30 seconds before the bus arrived that he needed his red gloves. I told him the gloves were in the car. He ran to get them, found only one, and refused to get on the bus. I began dragging him down the driveway toward the bus, but gave up. He literally dug in his heels and refused to move, so I waved the bus driver away.

Fifteen minutes later, still fuming mad, I was driving him through Rehoboth's country roads to school. We passed the Christmas tree farm where we tag and cut our tree every year and Matthew said, "Do you think they're planting new trees?"

"I'm sure they will soon," I said.

As soon as I said it, I started thinking about their re-planting program. I wondered how they decided where to plant, whether they planted an entire field or one tree at a time, and how they planted with all those stumps and roots in the ground. Matthew broke my train of thought with this question: "Why do they leave all the stumps in the ground?" I paused, surprised by the realization that my 5-year-old was going through the same thought process I was.

"That is a great question," I said. "They must take them out. But they probably wait until the spring, when the ground is a little warmer."

That answer satisfied Matthew and we rode for a few more minutes in silence. As we approached the school, there was a long line of buses and minivans, so we had to stop and wait.

"What do the bus drivers do after they drop off the kids?" Matthew asked.

"What do you mean?" I responded.

"After they go to school and all the kids get off, what do they do the rest of the morning?" he asked.

"Maybe they go home and wait," I said. The answer probably did not satisfy him, and I expect someday he'll ask the bus driver what she does all morning. That's just the way his mind works – the most stubborn, inquisitive, infuriating and fascinating mind I've known. That's the Matthew Mind.

The big boy and the baby brother

I've mentioned before that our oldest son, Josh, is fond of TV. He's so fond, we've implemented strict TV routines. The television is totally banned from Monday to Thursday. Josh can earn Friday TV by doing his homework throughout the school week, and on Saturdays and Sundays, he can watch a couple of hours max.

On Sunday, Jenn was working all day, so I was balancing the demands of all three boys. Josh was nagging me to let him watch a movie, but I made a deal. I told him he had to do family stuff first (a trip to the playground) and then he could watch TV during Colin's nap.

After lunch, Colin was contentedly playing with a baseball bat and ball when Josh decided enough was enough. He grabbed the ball and said, "Colin, do you want the ball? Do you want the ball, Colin? Come on, baby. Come get the ball."

I was still cleaning up dishes from lunch, so I allowed Josh to lure his baby brother upstairs. After five minutes, I decided to check on them. While walking up the stairs, I could hear Josh singing: "Baby, baby, come with me, let's learn our ABCs. A, B, C, D, E, F G ..." I turned the corner into Colin's room and found the scene pictured above, with Josh "rocking" Colin to sleep. Colin's face held a mixture of fascination and terror.

I thanked Josh and took over from there. After 176 books, Colin went down for his nap. Josh turned on his movie. Matthew and I sat in the dining room to play Monopoly (yes, a kindergartner crushed me in Monopoly, bankrupting me in about 20 minutes, so much for business school ... ).

When Josh's movie ended, he pounded over to our Monopoly game (it was round #2 and Matthew was once again dominating), he tried to play banker, but he got bored. After making 16 trips into the pantry and refrigerator for snacks, Josh disappeared upstairs. I thought he had gone to his room, but then I heard heavy footsteps on the stairs. I looked up to see Colin's body, held like a sack of potatoes, carried step by step down the stairs and deposited in the front foyer. Josh had woken him up, dragged him out of the crib and carried him down.

Colin looked bewildered, but he wasn't crying. I paused for a moment, torn between anger (I wanted to scream at Josh) and amusement (the two of them were so cute together). I calmly asked Josh if he remembered how I felt the last time he did this, when he woke up Colin an hour early. "I checked the clock and it was time for him to get up," Josh said.

He was right. It was close to time for Colin to get up. So Matthew went back to world domination in Monopoly, I went back to forking over millions in rent payments to my 5-year-old, and Josh took Colin into the kitchen to give him some snacks.

It's kind of nice to have a little helper around the house, but I can't give Josh too much credit. After all, his actions are entirely self-motivated. He lured Colin to sleep because he wanted to watch TV, and he dragged him out of the crib because he was bored. Colin is basically a plaything for his older brother. But at least he's a protected plaything. Despite his enormous strength and brute will, Josh is gentle with his baby brother. So we've got that going for us.

'We should not keep this boy'

Just heard the best line of the day from Josh. He was taking a shower, and from the other end of the house I heard him yelling. It wasn't a panicked yell, so I took my time getting there. When I entered the bathroom, I could hear better.

"Daddy! Daddy! Look what Colin's doing. He's putting them all in here!"

"All what?" I asked.

"Look at what he's done!"

I pulled back the curtain and saw a pile of sopping towels and facecloths piled on the bottom of the tub. Colin had been opening the linen closet, grabbing piles of clean towels and cloths, and tossing them into the shower.

"Coliiiinnnn!" I yelled while laughing. Then Josh chimed in.

"See, Daddy. He is not a good baby. We should not keep this boy."

Compliment one, insult the other — Dad makes amends

I hurt my son's feelings tonight. I knew I had. I didn't know it consciously, but I knew it.

We were driving home from dinner at TGI Friday's, all five of us in the minivan, and I was telling everyone how helpful Josh had been the last couple of days. Josh, the oldest, has been doing little things to help, like making pancakes, letting the dog in or out, cleaning up toys or carrying things from one floor of the house to another. Yesterday, because I was bored, I cut down a damaged tree, chopped it into logs, hauled it out of the woods, split it and stacked it. Near the end of the process, I dragged the older boys outside to help haul and stack.

"Josh, you've been so helpful," I said. "And yesterday with the firewood, you were my best helper."

The car was totally dark. Colin was in the second row, and the older two were in the back row. There was a blue glow from the corner of the car where Matthew was sitting, head down, staring at his Nintendo DS game console. He doesn't play a lot of video games, but for some reason he got hooked on 'Super Mario' today, and he played for about five hours, off and on, whenever he got a chance.

As soon as I called Josh "the best helper," my eyes darted to the rear-view mirror, and I saw Matthew's head flick up quickly, then back down. He went back to playing and I went back to driving.

We arrived back home, unloaded the leftover food, the coats, the shoes, the bags, the boys and ourselves, and almost everyone went upstairs to get ready for bed. Matthew stayed downstairs playing Nintendo by himself. I was getting out pajamas and closing curtains when I felt an urge to find my 5-year-old. But as I turned around, he walked into the room and flopped down on his bed. We were alone in the room.

I lay down beside him and said, "Tell me about the game. Are you getting far?"

"It was so weird," Matthew said. "I beat the king and got to the next level, but then it put me back at the lower level."

I told him I'd check it out the next day to see if we could figure out what was happening, then I wrapped my arm around him and said, "You know I love you, right?" I felt his head nod underneath my arm, then he said, "It hurt my feelings when you said Josh was your best helper."

Knife to the heart, twist, remove, stab again.

"I'm sorry I hurt your feelings," I said. "I didn't mean to. It's just that Josh was a great helper yesterday, and well, you went and made mud castles ... But that's okay. That's what a boy is supposed to do. And that's what you love doing. Making mud castles is more fun than carrying firewood, so I understand. I love you, and you've always been a great helper. I'm sorry I hurt your feelings."

We lay on the bed and talked some more, and I talked a smile back onto his face. He went to bed happy.

Thinking back on it, I realize how much Matthew means to this family. Because of his personality, Josh commands a lot of attention. Because of his needs, Colin commands a lot of attention. Matthew is so damn easy, he gets a lot less attention, and we sometimes take that for granted. Just by being himself, Matthew's a great helper. I should tell him that more often.

One illness, one hero

Okay, since my bedmate won't stop talking about throwing up ("what if one of us throws up on your laptop, Daddy?"), I might as well keep writing about the traumatic event. It's actually amazing that it is a traumatic event in our family. I know other parents deal with kids throwing up regularly. Each of our three boys has thrown up once or twice in his life. This may be Matthew's first time. We're extremely fortunate.

Let me tell you about the hero. While Mom was changing her nasty clothes, Matthew was stepping in the shower and I was trying to assist, Joshua, the oldest boy, grabbed paper towels and tried cleaning up the mess in the downstairs bathroom. It was totally unexpected and beautifully selfless. He's a good kid who doesn't get enough credit for it.

Thanks, Josh. It's nice to have another set of helping hands in the family.

Two guys, one illness

I'm lying in bed right now, sipping Ginger Ale, trying not to be sick. Moments ago, Matthew joined me on the other side of the bed. He just threw up an hour ago, while Mom was carrying him, with him facing Mom ... Yup, that's about as nasty as you can get.

Anyway, he and I are sick, so he just crawled in to join me. "What are you doing?" he asked. "Are you writing a blog?"

"No."

"Write one," he said.

"About what?" I asked.

"How about me throwing up?" he answered.

Yes, I'm sure people will love to read about you throwing up, Matthew. But he was so cute, I took his photo and made it into a blog post. Here's to me and my sick companion. May we not infect anyone else in the house.

What? Another school vacation?!!!!!!!

Jenn and I were just sitting here at home talking about life when she made a startling observation. The bus arrives in nine minutes, signaling the official start to February school vacation.

"Do you realize when they get off that bus, we have them for nine days? Nine days!"

Oh, dear. Nine days ...

Are we ready for this?